


edge of tonight with you

by ironicsopsychotic (delightisadream)



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, amfie and fabina VERY limited background, band au, fake dating au, joy's pov, manager mara, model amber, nina and fabian are just eddie's old college buddies or smth, peddie's dating, yes he dropped out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightisadream/pseuds/ironicsopsychotic
Summary: anubis as a band feels like they’re finally coming into themselves, but as one of the thousands of bands under a young record label… they’re not doing too hot. all it takes is one throwaway comment by eddie and mara’s overwhelming support and suddenly they have a showmance on their hands. fine. that’ll draw some attention.the problem? it’s joy and jerome.// band au + jeroy fake dating au
Relationships: Jerome Clarke/Joy Mercer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	edge of tonight with you

**Author's Note:**

> bc who doesn't need a jeroy fake dating band au? they kinda already did "fake" dating, except, yk. this time jerome's in the know.
> 
> band @anubis  
> joy (lead singer) @missjoy  
> jerome (keyboard/acoustic if needed) @j_clarke  
> alfie (lead guitar/backup vocals) @alphaalfie  
> eddie (drums) @no_emills  
> patricia (bass) @trixie.w
> 
> song title from speechless by glades. i just like the vibe.
> 
> also yes this is barely edited. it's 2am and i'm tired.

It starts like this.

Anubis was taking a quick break mid-rehearsal, sweating enough to warrant it but discouraged enough to know the break wouldn’t fix any real problems. Joy’s vocals sounded amazing when backed with Eddie, Alfie, Jerome, and Patricia’s instruments, but so far their following was pretty standard. The fans they _did_ have were loyal to a fault—and supporting Patricia in punching that one bouncer while drunk a few months ago was certainly a _fault—_ but they weren’t reaching new audiences. 

For some artists that was enough, maybe even all they ever wanted. For them, it wasn’t going to pay the bills or keep Amun Records off their backs.

Alfie set his guitar down and wasted no time before drenching his face with a harder-than-necessary squeeze to his water bottle. A small puddle formed on the floor around his feet, but part of it flew in Patricia’s direction.

She moved out of the shower, covering her bass. “God, Alfie, mind stepping out for a sec?”

“And isn’t that a drummer thing?” Eddie asked, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He leaned back on his seat slightly. “Let me do that.”

“How about none of us do that?” Joy suggested, purposely walking as far away as possible. Her vocals chords were strained and she wanted no part in whatever weird game the boys would partake in to get their spirits up. She wanted to head back to their hotel and swear at reality shows with Patricia in her own suite, but that wasn’t an option. Twitter would have to do.

“Maybe if you did some stupid shit like that at our shows we’d go viral,” Jerome said, the amusement in his tone shifting to problem-solving.

Normally, as a rule of thumb, Joy made it a point to disagree with everything Jerome said. But that was probably the only good idea they’d had in awhile about how to expand their target demographic. Mara had been on their asses about experimenting for the last month and a half without offering any suggestions of her own. If even their manager, The capable, no-nonsense Mara Jaffray, was stumped, then they didn’t stand a chance.

“That’s not big enough,” Eddie disagreed, tapping a random beat out. “We need to think bigger.”

“Ooh! One of us fakes our death!”

Joy didn’t look up; she knew that was Alfie by the influx of no's.

“We could post more covers, vary the range a little bit,” Patricia’s voice joined the fray. One of her heels tapped on the floor demandingly. “I refuse to do ballads, though. Anyone even suggests that and I’m quitting.”

“By all means.”

“Jerome, you’re the prick who’s made so many going solo jokes Alfie and I tried to sell your keyboard on eBay.”

“Which didn’t work.”

“Only because no one knew who you were and we had a high asking price, mate,” Alfie said. A chorus of snickers followed. “Can’t go solo without going _anywhere_ first.”

Joy let out an unguarded laugh, thumbs hovering over her keyboard as she wondered whether to tweet this moment or not. Maybe it wasn’t the classiest decision, but she really wanted to document it.

* * *

**missjoy:** not jerome getting called out over his ridiculous solo career aspiration for the 500000th time during practice

* * *

“Wait, wait,” Eddie’s voice cut in, sounding for all the world like he’d just had a eureka moment. One of the cymbals crashed. “What about a showmance?”

“A _what?”_

“You know. A fake romance. Gets the fans excited, word spreads, _boom!”_ He was picking up momentum. 

Joy made a noise from the back of her throat. “That never works, Eddie.”

“Oh, please. Everyone ships Alfie and Patricia and they’re not even the ones dating here.”

Jerome coughed. “Shocking that they don’t love the Brit and the American.”

“Sorry, I’m just too attractive.”

Patricia practically trampled over Alfie’s ego. “You know what, Weasel Face? This is probably the best option so far,” she conceded.

_“Definitely_ the best option.”

Alfie bounced around in Joy’s peripheral vision, starting to get excited. “So who’s the ship?”

Eddie snorted. “Seriously? We already have the perfect candidates.”

They went silent, clearly deliberating. Joy didn’t bother joining in on the decision. Like with all their previous attempts to make a splash—meet and greets, a surprise performance at the mall, Alfie dropping his phone out of a five-store window while it played one of their songs (which was an accident, but one that drew the most attention, frustratingly)—this wouldn’t do much. Anubis had talent and Joy desperately wanted things to work out for them, but she figured they were all close to their breaking points.

Jerome nudged at her arm then, taking her out of her endless Twitter scrolling long enough to glare at him. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at the rest of the band, who in turn was staring at them and… Joy’s eyes widened. “What, us? No way.”

Eddie put his hands up. “Come on! You argue literally _all_ the time, which would be believable since that’s how Patricia and I started.”

“Started? Did you stop somewhere and I missed it?” Jerome quipped, but the crease between his eyebrows gave his true emotions away. He was just as opposed to this as she was.

Joy whipped her head around to look at Patricia, mouth ajar. “Patricia, help us out here.”

She physically grimaced. “...you _are_ the only ones not in a relationship.”

_“Patricia!”_

“Sorry, sorry!” She had the decency to apologize before immediately jumping on the bandwagon. “But it’s true, isn’t it? The fans know about me and Eddie, Alfie never shuts up about Amber. Nothing else would work without drawing unwanted attention to what’s really going on.”

Joy poked her tongue in her cheek, shaking her head. “No, no just because that’s the only option doesn’t mean it’s a good one.”

“For once I agree with Joyless.”

She cut her eyes at him. “Thanks, Jerome, I really needed backup.”

“See!” Eddie said loudly, pointing at each of them with a drumstick. “Banter! Tension! It literally _has_ to be you.”

Jerome gave him a tightlipped smile. “Nope.”

“Not gonna happen,” Joy echoed, not even worried they were dismissing their one real chance at rising to fame. Who did that through a fake relationship anyway?

Apparently they did, because Alfie glanced up from his phone and only then did Joy realize he had been silent for way too long. “I just texted Mara the idea and we have her full support,” he said happily, grinning.

Jerome’s voice dropped menacingly. “You _what?”_

“She said yes?” Patricia asked, stepping closer to look at his phone. When she lifted her head, a smile was spreading across her face. “She said YES.”

Eddie played a sting, joining in on the grinning. “Damn, Mara’s a hero.”

And they, Joy felt in waves, were dead.

**xxx**

They weren’t about to start making out every time they were in public. They both outright refused to go so heavy for one, and for two it needed to be _believable._

(Eddie chuckled and muttered under his breath how it was already pretty believable. Jerome snapped one of his drumsticks.)

Mara gave them a rough outline of what to do while she gathered a foolproof plan to build anticipation and use their ‘relationship’ to the fullest advantage. In the meantime, while she crunched facts and figures and asked weirdly personal questions that Joy only felt half-comfortable supplying answers for, Joy and Jerome were supposed to amp up their interactions. Playfulness was encouraged; longing looks were a must.

Joy had managed to push it out of her mind when they went to their first rehearsal post-ridiculous plan, but it all came rushing back when she elbowed Jerome out of her space and he ruffled her hair, Alfie loudly announcing, “Awe, see I knew this was a good idea! You’re naturals already!”

The little movement was so popular within Anubis that they got stuck repeating it during shows. Sometimes he leaned on her like an armrest, sometimes she flipped her hair in his direction, but the overall gist was the same: their banter and any accidental glances had to read “SOMETHING IS GOING ON HERE” in bright, flashing lights.

Out in public, no instruments in sight, they knocked arms with each other, shoving the other to the side and making stupid quips, just in case paparazzi picked up what they were saying. Patricia was the most skilled at sniffing out reporters and the like, but Joy figured the whole point of this was to look like they _didn’t_ know they were being watched.

So she opted to stand next to him instead of her best friend, a little closer than either of them were used to. Jerome bristled exactly one time before he started initiating it even more than her. They walked far enough behind their bandmates to—oops—get stuck in the elevator alone, where they were almost always quietly frustrated or immediately sighing in relief.

The photo opportunities were too easy to pass up, Joy rationalized. Even if it looked like they were alone, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they’d pass by someone they assumed was a trustworthy, tightlipped friend, and then it’d get back to just the right people that Joy Mercer and Jerome Clarke, the iconic height difference duo of the band Anubis, were finally branching out of their usual ribbing. Something was going on between them. Mara would eat it up, Joy reminded herself, even as she noticed herself gravitating toward Jerome when there was truly no threat of paparazzi. It was just… easy. They’d always been friends, albeit gruff ones at times, but they _were_ friends. It wasn’t supposed to be too weird.

The hard thing to wrap her mind around was that, so far, she didn’t have much to wrap her mind around at all.

**xxx**

It took her longer than she wanted to admit to realize it had changed from a publicity stunt to a game of seeing who could annoy the other more.

Out in public—always in public, because this kind of distinct intimacy was so far out of left field for them—Jerome took to tapping out beats on her leg. He started casually on the table top, because of course he had slid into the seat beside her, and then it changed to his fingers on her thigh and a sick sort of dizzying feeling spreading through her. Every time. Without fail. Patricia raised her eyebrows once when they weren’t seated at a restaurant and instead were in a waiting room, on full display, to which Joy immediately nudged him away and both hoped it would and _wouldn’t_ happen again.

It happened again. And again.

He started giving her little side hugs after shows, holding her just tight enough to let her know it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. He made flirty comments, small things like “Oh, you always brighten my day, Joyless,” “Those jeans actually make your legs look longer,” and once, to Alfie, “Doesn’t the way she holds the mic make her hotter?” She hated it—mostly because she couldn’t always separate the sarcasm from the way it affected something in her.

He held doors open for her too, which admittedly he always did, but now she was seeing it in a new light.

But the second he let out a low whistle after she finished belting out a newly written line and murmured, “Voice like an angel, tongue like a devil,” she was seeing red—and _not_ just because she felt her cheeks flush crimson.

“What the hell is that?” she muttered to Patricia, storming right over the second Jerome was preoccupied. Joy brushed her hair out of her face, breaths falling in uneven patterns. “Who does he think he is?”

Patricia offered up a sneer in his direction. “Seriously. Pretty bold for a guy who gets no action _ever.”_

But Joy could tell some of her natural zing was missing. She raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you? Isn’t this as weird to you as it is to me?”

She shrugged, tongue in cheek. “You did agree to this showmance bullshit.”

Joy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t jockeying for it as much as everyone else.”

“Fine, I pushed for it too. But can you blame me?” 

Joy sighed, some of the irritation falling away with her shoulders relaxing. “We _are_ getting more hype. Twitter’s going crazy.”

Patricia leaned back against the wall, a mischievous smile grazing her lips. “But…”

“What?”

“If his comments freak you out, you could totally do it back.”

Joy blinked, surprised to find herself considering it. Jerome might have crossed a weird line, but did she really believe he would have if they weren’t in this situation? The lines and the physical contact she could confidently recognize as his attempt to get under her skin. And while it was working, Patricia was right. He wasn’t the only one in this game.

**xxx**

When it came down to it, there wasn’t a contest as to what she had to pull to properly freak him out.

Tuesday afternoon the next week brought the perfect opportunity. Amber was in town due to a brief layover and she’d found a quaint little café to try out, insisting the whole band joined her boyfriend. Joy accompanied Patricia and Eddie down the hall to Jerome and Alfie’s room, watching Eddie knock relentlessly as they waited for the door to open.

The second Alfie unlatched it he rushed past them, hollering about Amber and food and not knowing which to be more excited for. Patricia rolled her eyes and suggested they follow after the toddler—er, toddler _s._ Eddie was halfway down the stairwell. 

Joy laughed and shook her head. “I’m gonna use the boys’ restroom real quick and meet you in the lobby.” Patricia just nodded, unsuspecting. Not that it really mattered if she pieced it together, anyway; Jerome was the real problem.

Speaking of, she stepped into the suite and came face to chest with him, the last of them to finish getting ready like the inconvenient, pretentious person he was. All she saw was his collarbone, but it still made her stop in her tracks. _Definitely needed to go through with this._

Jerome paused at the top button of his shirt, eyeing her curiously. “What, you come here to seduce me?”

Joy rolled her eyes instantly. “More like I needed to pee.” She pushed past him to the bathroom, calling out as she shut the door, “I’ll meet you down there!”

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Joyless!”

She sat on the closed toilet seat and fiddled her thumbs, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she waited a minute. She’d just pulled out her phone to see if Patricia had caught on and texted her when the front door closed. She stood up and flicked the sink on. It wasn’t past Jerome to pretend to leave and scare the shit out of her as she was coming out, so she had to play the part. But when she left the bathroom he really was gone.

Joy got to work. She yanked open one of the dresser drawers, displeased to find Alfie’s tighty whities strewn everywhere. His underwear preference was definitely something she could’ve lived without knowing. She peaked at a few more drawers and surveyed the room before she thought to check the closet.

It was partially open and completely empty from what she could tell, but once she slid open the other side— _voila._ Joy bit back a grin as she slid Jerome’s signature jacket off its hanger. She stepped back into the bathroom before putting it on, feeling a little thrill as she watched the jacket slip over her shoulders. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was going to lose it.

She texted Patricia on the way down the stairs to start walking, making sure Jerome wasn’t watching for her. This wouldn’t have the desired effect unless they were already out in public when he noticed, Patricia sent a simple **_??_ **in response, but Joy knew she’d do it.

Sure enough the boys were halfway out the lobby when she reached the ground floor. Patricia barely spared her a glance before they started after them. Then she whipped her head around again.

“Oh my god, you took my advice,” Patricia said quietly, mouth agape as she appraised the look.

Joy popped an invisible collar and smirked. “You were right. He deserves to be freaked out.”

Outside, the boys filled the air with their orders, so intricate and breakfast food-centric that Patricia had to remind them it was almost five p.m. Jerome laughed loudly and assured her that wouldn’t stop them. The topic shifted to Amber and whether or not she was paying—despite them being more than capable to pay—at which point Joy deemed it a good time.

She gave Patricia a knowing look before striding forward, weaving through Eddie and Alfie and sliding her hand into Jerome’s as soon as she was close enough. He startled, head turning to look at her, so she saw the exact moment he realized what she was wearing. She interlocked their fingers, smiling and swinging it casually.

She could tell Alfie was making an effort to be calm and not comment aloud, but Eddie was snickering behind them and Patricia’s laugh soon joined his. 

_“What_ are you _wearing?”_ Jerome demanded once they were far enough away from pedestrians to whisper it without fear. His gaze was hardened, tone intense. She didn’t care.

Joy knew her eyes must’ve been twinkling as she glanced up at him, her smile wide as she swung their hands back and forth between them. She knew she was projecting a happy, carefree image and that it was freaking him the fuck out. _Good._ “Your jacket.” At his—expected—incredulous response, she said innocently, “What? Are you the only one who can play it up?”

He held her hand the entire way to the café. She could feel his frustration simmering in his veins.

**xxx**

**@missjoy** WHAT IS THIS??? IS THIS **@j_clarke** ’S???

Holy shit it’s happening :o

_Is Joy Mercer wearing bandmate Jerome Clarke’s clothes now?_

**xxx**

The first time he was ‘scheduled’ to get caught leaving her hotel room, it was late at night and she was suddenly unsure she’d ever purposely invited him into her suite before.

She rarely left her room, _loudly_ preferring Patricia visited her there rather than interrupt whatever she and Eddie might be involved in within the confines of their own suite. Alfie and Jerome shared a suite often enough, which was all the more reason to steer clear: those boys combined could tear a room apart like nobody’s business. In a handful of ways she could confidently say they were all adults here, but in all other ways that particular duo put rebelling teenage boys to shame. Imagining the blond destructive force in her room didn’t extend to many other realistic visuals.

When she opened the door, he loomed over her for a moment before pursing his lips and nodding. “Joyless,” he said in a transaction-like manner, maneuvering around her before she could refuse him entrance. Mara wouldn’t have appreciated it, but Joy would’ve gotten a kick out of it. (“The fans _like_ when we’re mean to each other!” she could practically hear herself reaching. Not like it wasn’t true.)

She wasn’t sure why she was assuming they’d be playing up their interactions even within the walls of her suite, because the second the door closed he was making himself comfortable on the couch. Joy eyed him carefully, moving to sit cross legged on the edge of her bed. There was about five feet between them.

“Good. You knew that my bed was off limits to Jerome Clarke,” she deadpanned, loosely linking her hands together.

He just rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself, Joyless. You’ll need to try a bit harder to get me in bed.”

Yeah, that was pretty much exactly what she had been expecting.

“So how’d Mara decide to pull this stunt tonight?” Joy asked, fluttering her legs a little like a butterfly. She didn’t know what to do now that they were here, going through with this portion of the showmance. Holding hands and sitting beside each other was one thing; getting ‘caught’ leaving her room was an entirely new step.

“Oh, probably has something to do with riding the coattails off _your_ little stunt,” he said, eyes tracking her expression carefully.

If he was looking for embarrassment, he wasn’t going to find it. Joy grinned. “You deserved that.”

That, he couldn’t believe. “I _deserved_ it?”

_“Yes._ I don’t even think _real_ boyfriends have their hands all over their girlfriends’ legs as much as you do!”

Jerome slowly began to smirk and Joy instantly understood why that was the wrong thing to say. “Awe, Joyless. Am I distracting you too much? Can’t keep your mind out of the gutter?”

She wasn’t sure if her face was flaming or if she was angry—because that _so_ wasn’t it—but either way she knew she had to bite back harder. “Says the one who’s made not one but _two_ suggestive comments to me in the past five minutes.” 

“It’s just too easy.”

Now she was definitely red. “Easy?”

His eyes flickered over her face quickly before he shook her head, face scrunching up. “Nope. Not what I meant.”

She let it drop. She didn’t want to discuss what he had actually meant, and him shutting up for once mirrored that decision. The quiet descended into a proper silence, filled only by her nails tapping against her phone screen and the couch’s whines as he got more comfortable.

**[patricia]** have you killed each other yet

**[joy]** not yet. waiting it out

She opened Twitter to commit the calm before the storm to memory. The frenzy over the jacket outing was easily the most mentions she’d gotten yet, the day-one fans spreading the photos like wildfire. They’d both gained two thousand more followers; now those just needed to transfer over to Anubis’s account as well.

* * *

**@missjoy** i am qUITE LITERALLY sobbing at how cute you look in his jacket. **@j_clarke** make babies rn

**@anubis** sooooo when’s the j&j duet coming? 👀

Does anyone follow **@anubis**? Cuz we’re all losing our minds over a new development…

the sexual tension between joy and jerome is only rivaled by mine and this psych assignment i’m procrastinating on

* * *

She closed Twitter. Sexual tension was exactly what she’d rather not be thinking about right now.

Instead, she thumbed through her notes app and tried to stop glancing at Jerome. Five minutes had passed. She had no clue how long he was supposed to stay there for, something that caused her pulse to spike nervously. The lyrics in front of her face didn’t do much to help. Half of them were unfinished, she couldn’t remember the notes where she’d neglected to write them down, or they were just plain bad.

She hadn’t realized she was humming along to one of them until Jerome cut through the silence with, “Please don’t tell me that’s the sappy piece Alfie’s been trying to make us play.”

Joy lifted her head, taking a moment to grasp what he was talking about. Alfie offered backup vocals here and there; nothing strong enough to merit a full song to himself, but despite this he’d been slipping them sheet music for a new song, aptly titled “Amber.” Literally everyone said no at least five times. He kept doing it.

Joy clicked her phone off and shook her head. “No, just some random lyric I was looking at. Doesn’t really have a home yet.”

He set his phone down as well. “See, this is why you’ll be lost when I go solo. I _always_ help put lyrics into place.”

“Since when?”

“Since I started taking songwriting classes. Obviously. For the solo career.”

“I know we all make jokes about that, but you play keyboard and sometimes acoustic.” Joy pointedly raised an eyebrow. “Not the usual solo career material.”

He shrugged, relaxing against the couch cushions. “I could sing if I wanted to.”

She couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that came up. Shaking her head, she sputtered, “No, no I’ve heard you sing before—that one morning on the tour bus?” He stared for a moment before realization dawned on his face. He groaned as she resumed laughing. “Not your best.”

“Fine, fine. It’s not in the cards for me.” Jerome’s eyes found hers after she calmed, and the sincere look in them made her pause. “You could, though. If you wanted to.”

Joy quickly tried to file away the warm feeling in her stomach. She managed a quick quirk of the lips before averting her gaze. “Nah, I love the band too much.” The heat wasn’t leaving. She cleared her throat, tapped her knee to gather her thoughts. After a moment she looked back up and said, “You know, going solo might not be your thing, but having posh as fuck hair certainly is.”

He had the audacity to seem incredulous. “My _posh as fuck_ hair? That’s the official description?”

“Yeah, actually, your hair is about the most put-together part of you.” He made a face and scoffed, so she picked up her phone and angled it at him, pretending to take a picture. “Uh huh. Rivaling Amber as a model.”

Jerome let out a surprised laugh at that, such a pleasing sound that Joy couldn’t help but smile. When she set her phone down in her lap he asked, “Can I see those? Maybe you have a future in photography.”

She shook her head, a ghost of a smile still on her lips. “Nah, I didn’t actually take any.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she could see the amusement behind it. “I don’t believe that.” He moved around until he could get his phone out of his back pocket, the reason why not clicking for Joy for a moment.

When it did, she held up a hand and laughed involuntarily. “No, stop.”

Jerome waved her concerns away with a flippant hand before returning to holding his phone by the very edges. “No, this is only fair. I’m not solo career material, and you can’t _possibly_ be one of the paparazzi without practicing your technique.”

“Jerome!” She dropped her hand and settled on tipping her head down, fighting the smile that wanted to work its way onto her face. He took a couple pictures, camera shuttering as proof. Teasing encouragement flowed through the air as she avoided the camera.

His phone dinged then, bringing her out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. She lifted her head and blinked as he checked his texts, eyebrows rising higher on his forehead. “I’m, uh, supposed to leave right now—in all caps—looking disheveled.”

She paused for a second. “So what’s this supposed to look like? Make out, then?”

He seemed to avoid her gaze. “Yeah, probably just a really good snog right now.”

Joy nodded and shuffled on her bed, interlocking her fingers so she could twiddle her thumbs. Up until that point she hadn’t noticed their conversation had been… nice. Fun, even. She was uncomfortable to realize she wasn’t entirely happy he was leaving. She wished the disheveled comment had sparked the shift in her emotions.

Jerome ran his fingers through his hair a couple times, shaking it out to complete the effect. “Not _posh as fuck?”_ he asked, looking to her for confirmation. She gave a halfhearted thumbs up. He stood and headed around her to the front door. Only when he said her name did she look up. He was holding up his phone, the pictures on display. “Airdrop.” She moved to accept it as he left.

The door was already closed by the time the transfer completed. There were three photos, all of her looking down at her phone in her lap with a smile on her face. Not the broad, almost high grin reserved for shows, and not the condescending smirk she offered whenever one of them would do better to shut the fuck up. No, Jerome had caught her real, soft smile, and something in her stomach clenched at the realization he must’ve made her smile like that. Her thumb swiped back and forth between the pictures, pulse tripping. She knew she was happy at that moment.

And that, if she let it, this would open a whole new can of worms.

**xxx**

_Are Anubis’ flirty Jerome Clarke and Joy Mercer having a fling? See the pictures!_

_JEROME CLARKE SPOTTED LEAVING BANDMATE JOY MERCER’S HOTEL ROOM._

_Get ready, Anubis fans! Joy and Jerome are TOTALLY doing it!_

**@missjoy** omg you and jerome!!! so happy for you two!!

#JEROY I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW— 

**@j_clarke @missjoy** be more discreet next time, eh? ;)

**@j_clarke** Massive congrats to you, mate! Landing Joy! Who would’ve thought?

My babiesssss :’) #jeroy #confirmalreadypls

**xxx**

The confirmation didn’t come, but Joy figured it might as well have with how much they upped the ante.

Jerome still tapped out useless rhythms on her leg—what was he doing, practicing _keys_ on her? Yeah right—picking the most inopportune times to do so. She retaliated by parading around in his jacket every chance she got. She’d had to wash it three times already, but it was absolutely worth it if she got to see the way his eyes never failed to widen, just the tiniest fraction. She liked surprising him.

Sometimes he slipped an arm around her waist on the streets; she grabbed his hands at least half the time. Joy thought she was doing an excellent job of keeping her attention on him at all times, which caused him to focus on her, and thus “longing” looks were born. She got a bit of a thrill from hiding triumphant glints in their scheduled gazes. Twitter still ran with it.

So she was completely aware of what sitting on his lap would do. She did it on purpose.

At first it was a one-off in public, a casual band outing to a park paparazzi were known to frequent. She nearly tumbled right off the bench because Jerome didn’t adjust fast enough to hold her, but the pictures looked great. They looked even better when they got mobbed in the studio’s lobby, taking a breather after rehearsal. By the time a week passed with these antics, Jerome was tossing her onto his lap half the time and the other half she was gravitating toward him subconsciously. It startled her a little, but she could live with it. As long as _she_ was the one to make that grand gesture, ensuring Jerome’s pulse spiked and he fumbled with masking his alarm, then she was perfectly fine with it. Even when the alarm began to shift to normalcy.

**xxx**

There was something so all encompassing about wearing his jacket. 

She felt safe, for one, cocooned in its soft material and the knowledge that it was his. She felt loved, in a general sense of course, because it wasn’t often she got to wear others’ clothes. And she felt entirely too giddy when she was photographed with it on, even when he wasn’t in the picture. 

Twitter seemed to agree.

* * *

**@missjoy** i want you to stop but i also don’t want you to stop. my heart is too full heLp

Literally how can two people be THIS sweet?? #jeroy

**@j_clarke** On behalf of...everyone, I’d like to thank you for giving **@missjoy** your jacket. The fans appreciate it and would kill to relive it all over again.

* * *

She’d seen comments about her and Jerome before, but they were only ever wild speculations. Now that there was ‘definitive proof’ she struggled to keep up with all the comments about them. She was still getting used to it and, while she'd only mentioned it once to Jerome in passing, he was trying to catch up as well. 

Were they supposed to respond to these messages? Retweet a few, tag each other in some? There wasn’t a rulebook for this part. Mara had a meticulous plan for their relationship exposure, not whatever Twitter ran with. Joy did get a little thrill seeing everyone so hyped up about what they were doing, though…

Screw it. She liked the tweets. 

**xxx**

Less than three days later she found herself sitting in a corner booth at the fanciest Italian restaurant she’d ever set foot in, Jerome by her side. They sat on the same side of the booth; they were _that_ showmance.

It was Friday night. Joy was in her sexiest heels and sweetheart neckline dress, Jerome was in a button-down and pressed trousers. She half expected him to propose in the serious environment, a thought that made her nervous for a split second. How long was this supposed to go on for? Not that long, surely. She assuaged this irrational train of thought by murmuring, “Mara’s shelling out more money on this than you did on my Christmas present,” and from then on they hadn’t spoken of the situation at all.

She made fun of how he twirled his spaghetti; he threatened to get sauce on her face. He resumed that annoying habit of tapping her leg; she slid her dress up her thighs and accused him of trying to feel her up. She knocked her knee against his just as he was leaning forward for a bite; he took that as the perfect opportunity to put an arm around her for the rest of the night. 

The thing was, Joy could very clearly see how all of their interactions—the seating, the joking around, the _restaurant—_ would be interpreted as a real date. She didn’t necessarily believe she’d want her first real date with a guy to include this much annoying behavior, but then again she wasn’t imagining that first date with Jerome. 

“Do you always treat girls with this level of disrespect?” she posed around a small mouthful of garlic bread.

“Do I always let the girl shower me with _oh so many_ compliments like you’ve been doing?” She smirked at that. Jerome just traced a pattern on her bare shoulder. “No, normally I would be the perfect gentleman.”

“Ah.” Joy nodded in understanding. She pointed a finger at him. “So the girl’s never met you before and you’re luring her into a false sense of security.”

He smiled funnily at her. She thought he was impressed at the quick quip. “There’s that too, yes.”

They paused to focus on eating, sipping water here and there. Joy had considered a margarita but decided against adding that into her mixed breath situation. He said something she didn’t quite catch, so she shifted towards him and crossed her legs. The top of her foot made contact with his calf.

Jerome was already in her space and she’d just moved into him more comfortably, so when his hand moved to cup her face and his eyes focused on her mouth, she didn't have to give it much thought. She just let him kiss her.

There was no tongue. There was no parting of lips, no moans, no toes curling. And yet, Joy thought it was even better than she’d imagined. Her hand fell to his knee, grounding her even as she surrendered to the meticulous sweetness and respect he put into it and leaned in farther. She liked this, even with garlic bread breath. She liked kissing Jerome Clarke.

When he pulled back, hand still caressing her jaw and her heart in her throat, she looked up at him with fluttering eyelids. Jerome swallowed, eyes flickering over her face. “They figured… now would be a good time to go public,” he murmured, close enough for their lips to still be touching.

Joy could’ve sworn her heart stopped for a second. She hoped he couldn’t feel her pulse. She just plastered on a smile and offered, “Right. Of course,” a feeling of dread settling over her even as the words left her mouth.

His thumb moved against her skin and yeah. Yeah, this was bad. 

Her heart still fluttered.

**Author's Note:**

> for hoa i find myself drawn to canon divergence more than aus, so idk what this is or even what a huge ass wip au is, but i hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> this isn't really going up valentine's day is it l m a o wishful thinking meg you stupid bitch  
> (i'm keeping this here if it goes up, but this was a note in the draft stage)
> 
> feel free to harass me for part two, i really rushed to get this up for valentine's day
> 
> i'm [ironicsopsychotic](https://www.youtube.com/ironicsopsychotic) from youtube, so if you like my hoa vids please give this fic some love! kudos, comments, bookmarks, all that jazz (+ harass me on tumblr at [exceptionallyopinionated](https://exceptionallyopinionated.tumblr.com/)).


End file.
